


The King's Game

by Whoreofaneboy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Bi!georgenotfound, Blood, Blood and Gore, Chasing, DNF, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Georgewastaken, Gream - Freeform, Homophobia, I can't worldbuild so I'm gonna be super vague abt locations, Injury, Injury Recovery, Lemon, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minecraft Manhunt, NSFW, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!georgenotfound, Transphobia, bi!dream, dreamnotfound, dubcon, in game fic, maybe? not sure how dark this fic will get but it prolly won't be ask dark as my other one, probable smut, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoreofaneboy/pseuds/Whoreofaneboy
Summary: [Disclaimer: Applicable to all of my in-progress works] This fic is indefinitely discontinued, and it is extremely unlikely that I will be updating it again, though I may continue to post short things/oneshots.Though I appreciate the comments I receive asking about updates or enjoying my/this work, do not expect updates.————Out casted by society, and banished from his home, Dream makes his living as an assasain. It is a dangerous job, one that has hardened him in many eyes. It keeps him under the wary eye of the King. Though Dream is excellent in his profession, one day he makes a careless mistake, overstepping his bounds.The King is forced to punish him, sending Dream on the run, farther and farther from his home, but the King still fears. So a brave young man by the name of George is tasked with hunting Dream, and he is wanted, dead or alive.But George quickly begins to wonder if it’s a job he’s cut out for, as a chase across the lands pushes him to his mental and physical breaking points, and he begins to wonder who’s truly being pursued.---------------Please read the tags, this could contain sensitive content!
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 512





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will have a different dynamic than my other fic, but probably won't be quite as dark! It's nice for me to have to projects going at once but I'm not abandoning the other fic so don't worry!

_It’s about more than the gold,_ Dream told himself, agile fingers searching for cracks and crevices in the aged stone brick wall. And it’s true, he values the thrill of the hunt, but images of the fat sack of gold Thomas had promised him spurred him up the wall more than anything else. Soon he reached the top, silent, efficient. Like always.

His hands hurt from the effort of the climb, but he ignored it, opening the window and creeping inside the castle. It was a fairly big drop from the windowsill to the floor, but he landed quietly, rolling to the side and rising to his feet briskly. Then, pressing himself up against the wall he listened for the scuffling footsteps of guards.

Though Dream had memorized their rotations and movement patterns, it was better not to be caught off guard. He’d spent weeks observing for this night, it was the craziest job he’d ever agreed to, but the money was too good to pass up. He’d figured it would be worth the risk, but now he doubted that ever so slightly.

 _It’s just like any other kill_ , he thought, lied to himself.

He was still a ways off from the kings chambers, but this had been the easiest access point. Bringing any sort of light was also a risk, meaning he had to wander about in the dark, but the guards always carried lanterns. That way he would see them before they saw him, and Dream had been in the dark for long enough to know how to navigate it.

Dream clung close to the wall, feeling first with his feet, stepping light as he made his way around, down a long corridor. The stone was cold, even through the well-fitting gloves he wore, and the whole place smelled faintly of mildew.

As he rounded a bend, there was a faint light flickering at the end of the hallway. He cursed silently, this wasn’t part of the rotation he’d memorized. He backed up around the corner, just out of sight, listening intently to the footsteps of what sounded like two men. Though he should be able to incapacitate them it might leave him exposed, and it would let the other guards know something was off.

Mulling over his options, he knew he had to act quickly. Maybe he could make a run back for the window, but he’d need more time. That also meant he’d have to stake out the place again, and Thomas wanted this job done tonight; Dream couldn’t afford to sacrifice the pay. _So knock out the guards and make for the king’s chamber_ , he decided.

As the sounds of boots on cold stone drew closer Dream’s heart sped up. Risk was a part of his daily life, but this was a new level. Getting caught now could cost him everything, but again he thought of the pay, and he hoped it would be worthwhile. It had to be.

The guards walked, one several feet behind the other, and Dream tucked himself into an alcove, knowing they would hear his footsteps, and that he had to wait until they were past him. He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t see him right away. So he stayed still as death until the second guard passed him.

Then he pounced, hand clamped over the second guard’s mouth, and pulled him into the alcove. Dream’s hands pressed sharply into the guard’s windpipe, and he held it there until the man collapsed, lowering him softly to the floor. He caught the first guard just as he was turning around, shoving him to the floor with a soft thud, placing a boot on his chest, and slamming his lantern it into his temple with enough force to knock him out. The sound was unerringly loud.

Dream dragged the guards to the side, put out their lanterns and moved as fast as possible down the rest of the hallway, until it widened, the door to the king’s chambers mere feet away. His breathing was ragged now, and he forced himself to calm, certain he’d made so much noise the whole army would be waiting inside. But based on what he knew about the guard rotation he had about five minutes alone with the king.

Plenty of time, he thought.

Dream smoothed back his dirty blond hair, adjusted the white mask on his face, and pulled his shoulders back. Then he was pulling open the heavy door to the king’s chambers as discretely as possible, and slipping inside.

The king was a stout, man with a scruffy, yet childish face, and half a mind to throw his whole kingdom into chaos. That was half the reason Dream hadn’t fought when he was exiled. In a way it was... freeing to disobey King Arnold, to wreak havoc in his ‘peaceful’ kingdom. A part of Dream had wanted to do this for years.

Slowly he removed his freshly sharpened sword from the sheath on his heap, running his finger gently against the blade. He admired the power of the steel, the way it shimmered in the dim light of the king’s bedchamber as he stalked closer.

Kneeling beside the kings bed, Dream pressed the blade to his fat neck, and the king opened one bleary eye. In an instant both were open, and wide with fear.

“Don’t make a sound,” Dream whispered, pressing the sword harder into his skin, beginning to draw blood. The king whimpered, tears in his eyes.

“Please, whatever they’re paying, I’ll pay you double,” he said. Dream knew the king, knew him well, and even though that offer was tempting, in this moment the look of fear in his eyes was more satisfying than any prize, and Dream loved prizes.

“Beg for your life then,” was all Dream said. As the king opened his mouth suddenly his eyes lit up with a hopeful spark, and Dream noticed too late. There was a sharp pain of something penetrating his right shoulder, and numbness quickly radiated from the pressure point. His arm went limp, and the sword fell from his hand. In a matter of moments his body was numb and heavy, and he slumped forward.

No, no, no, he thought, a wild animal sort of panic overtaking him. _This can’t be happening again_. There was only a vague sensation of pressure as something slammed into his head, and everything went dark.

When Dream opened his eyes there was a throbbing pain in his head, and a lingering stiffness in his body. His mouth was dry, and his lips were chapped. He pushed himself up, looking around, trying to piece together what had happened.

The cell he was in was small, and completely bare, leaving him to believe they weren’t going to keep him in here for long. Undecided on if that realization was terrifying or relieving, he remembered being in the king’s bedchamber, and being poisoned. If they caught him trying to kill the king, surely they were going to execute him.

Patting himself down, he found nothing, they’d stripped him of every weapon. He found himself becoming more frantic as he looked around and there was just _nothing_. The only notable feature was the iron bar door, locked with a heavy padlock and chain. Racking his brain, he tried to remember what else he might have on him, there was a lockpick in his left boot, but it wouldn’t work for this particular lock. It was too small.

Dream sat down on the ground, head in his hands, trying to force himself to breathe, but it felt like the walls were closing in around him. Memories of his last time in a jail cell flooded back to him, disturbing and unwelcome.

He’d been about fourteen, caught snatching ladies purses at the market. The king’s men caught him, and threw him in a cold, dark cell. He rotted in there for three days, and he was only given stale-tasting water. Thankfully they let him go after those three days, with a warning not to play games with the law, but he’d done it out of necessity. So that meant he would keep doing it.

Eventually Dream had graduated from picking pockets to breaking into houses, and found himself a talent in going undetected, or making it out alive by the skin of his teeth in some cases. Nothing could compare to his first real job offer, though.

He’d been sixteen by then, a shifty man in a dark cloak, whose face looked far too youthful to have seen a life on the streets, flashed some pretty coins at Dream, and made him an offer.

“I need you to kill someone for me,” he’d said, and Dream was shocked by his boldness, but that kind of money was too much for him to turn down. So, despite the fact the most harm Dream had inflicted was a few cuts with a rusty dagger, he’d agreed. To this day Dream shocked himself with the things he agreed to, his current failure of a job being a prime example.

He still remembered the warm, sticky sensation of blood on his cold fingers as he jabbed his knife into a man’s throat. It was so sickening that from then on he’d always worn gloves when he made a kill, but he kept making them. Strange as it was, he hadn’t known the man, hadn’t really known any of his victims.

Every one of them was nothing but a body, flesh and blood beneath his fingers, another obstacle, launching him towards a deadly reputation. Watching the light leave their eyes was always a bit disturbing, to know it was his doing, and perhaps it was that glimmer of guilt that separated him from true madmen.

To the people of his former kingdom, Dream was nothing but an aimless killer, the masked man in the dark that preyed upon innocents. But something he had come to understand was, if anyone was willing to pay their life savings to have you killed, there was a high chance you weren’t innocent. Even if that wasn’t the case, who was Dream to care? He did his job, he got paid, and if he didn’t, whoever hired him got to taste his sword.

The white mask, with a crudely drawn smile was the only thing that separated him from his violent persona, and it remained that way until he was about seventeen. Somehow, someone had found out who he was without the mask. His real name was Clay, and he did have a house in town, but after they found him, they burned it to the ground, and ‘forbade’ him from living within the walls of their kingdom.

He abandoned his real name after that completely, and it was common on the streets to hear people whispering about their ‘nightmares' and Dream would come take care of them, in exchange for money of course.

He never stopped coming into the capital city, or any towns and villages near by, but he had to be constantly discreet, always moving under cover of night, always wearing a mask. But the white mask was reserved for when he was doing his job. It was sort of, trademark, the last thing his victims got to see. But they’d taken it when they threw him in this forsaken cell. He felt odd without it, exposed.

_To all the gods that are listening_ , he thought miserably, _let me out of here alive_. Dream didn’t deserve the mercy of any gods, he’d never gotten it as a child, and he probably wouldn’t get it now. But it was sure as hell worth a shot. The door to his cell swung open, and two of the kings men walked in, swords at their hips.

“Come with us,” one of them said gruffly, though it was hardly a question. They’d grabbed Dream by his wrists, slapping manacles onto them and locking them behind his back. And then they were pushing him forward down a dark, dank hallway into the unknown.

Maybe it was the gods’ mercy that the lock on his handcuffs was small enough for his pick. It was too dark for the guards to see as Dream smiled into the darkness, and let them push him along.


	2. The Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dream is extremely dangerous,” George objected. He’d taken out two men in near pitch black in a matter of minutes. George’s strength was less... physical, if by some miracle he even found the elusive Dream, how was he to capture him?
> 
> “Well you shouldn’t have let him run off then,” the king said bitterly, “I need the rest of the royal guard here, to keep me safe.” George felt guilt once more at that, he always prided himself on knowing what went on this city, and the palace especially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this chapter is shorter than the last one! I'll probably write the next one from George's pov too since it's so short but I wanted to post a chapter for this fic and A Boy From the Village today, so look out for an update on that later!

George stood at attention, formal posture, sword, freshly sharpened in the sheath at his hip. The other guards replicated his stature, though they stood a few steps back, all twelve in two neat lines. They were King Arnold’s last defense, the keepers of peace and prosperity in their honorable kingdom. To them it was the greatest responsibility, it gave their lives purpose as individuals, and as a unit.

Now though, they watched as king Arnold paced back and forth, short, fat body moving quicker than was reasonably expected. His beady brown eyes darted to and fro, cheeks ruddy and red as he switched intermittently between muttering and shrieking, working himself into a pit of fury.

“I want him _found_ ,” the king hissed. “He’s been a nuisance to this city, this whole nation! Now he’s threatening me, and you fools let him escape!” The anger in the king’s face was a pathetic sort, it made him seem less authoritative, and more like a child throwing a tantrum. But George knew he was right, though personally he hadn’t been in charge of Dream, the fact he’d escaped was a shame on them all. As captain of the guard, though, George took a lot of pride in his job, and he felt guilt knowing a dangerous criminal was on the loose once more, one who’d threatened the safety of the king.

William, one of the guards Dream had knocked unconscious in his endeavor, spoke up.

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” he said lowly, “we’ve done poorly in keeping you safe, but we’ll be certain to apprehend him should he ever set foot within-”

“That’s not good enough!” The king shouted! “Since you couldn’t get him in the city, someone is going to have to catch him wherever he’s gone.” Suddenly the king whirled to face George, scrunching his face as he examined him.

“You,” the king said, pointing a stubby finger at George. “I want you to go and catch him.” George went pale under the king’s scrutinizing gaze.

“I don’t want to question you’re authority...” George grimaced nervously, “but I’m captain, who’s going to direct the guard in my absence?”

“I’ll find someone,” the king replied gruffly, “but you’re the only one here with half a head to catch that bastard, even if you’re a little off.” _Off_ , _that’s one way to put it_ , George thought bitterly. The king was an important man, George knew it was his job to protect him, but his attitude was never pleasant, especially not towards George.

“Who am I to bring?” George asked, really internally at the thought of having to track down Dream. He’d been a scourge on the kingdom as long as George had been on the guard, though he’d only recently earned a status as captain.

“You’re going to have to do it alone.” the king said, and George’s eyes went wide.

“Dream is extremely dangerous,” George objected. He’d taken out two men in near pitch black in a matter of minutes. George’s strength was less... physical, if by some miracle he even found the elusive Dream, how was he to capture him?

“Well you shouldn’t have let him run off then,” the king said bitterly, “I need the rest of the royal guard here, to keep _me_ safe.” George felt guilt once more at that, he always prided himself on knowing what went on this city, and the palace especially. But he hadn’t even known Dream was in the castle until Richard and Luther had come to tell him that they had him in cell in the dungeon.

George pushed his fear down deep, and looked the king in the eye, “I will try my hardest to find Dream, and bring him to justice.”

The king sneered, meaty face contorted in disgust, “No trying. You’re smart but you’re a pussy.” George couldn’t help the anger and shame that rose inside of him then. “You need to man up and catch him or you’ll be back on the streets.” His fear and embarrassment was palpable, though he forced himself to keep a straight face; King Arnold was nasty but he’d never spoken to George so directly, not in such a manner.

“Yes your majesty,” George said through gritted teeth. H

“Good, get out of my sight.” George needed to find Dream now, or everything important in his life would be at stake. So he left, turning his back to the members of the guard, cheeks red with shame and heart pumping with fear and adrenaline as he went to the stables.

What the king had said hit close to home. But not in a way anyone else could understand. The risk of being on the streets was one thing, plenty of guards came from humble beginnings, and any of them would be terrified to hunt Dream. No one truly understood the risk George was undertaking here in the castle, every single day.

Women of course weren’t allowed to be part of King Arnold’s private guard, or the city guard, or the army. They weren’t allowed to fight, to be honorable in the George always knew he was meant to be. But technically George was a woman, though he’d never seen himself that way. He was a man, just in the wrong body, and he’d had to be cautious in the barracks, and work twice as hard to make sure he was seen as such.

It wasn’t just enough to be invalidated though, he was constantly on high alert. If anyone found out just how different George was he’d be instantly kicked out of the guard. He’d lose the closest thing to family he’d ever had, and there was a high chance he’d face execution for his ‘crimes.’ The King was not fond of people like George, or anyone he thought was peculiar.

The bandages he wore tightly around his chest were miserably uncomfortable, and they made it hard to breathe whenever he fought or ran or rode his horse. But he didn’t feel right without them, he felt too feminine, too exposed to everything. Though the metal chestplate he wore covered him, it still made him feel like people could see right through it.

Whatever George had to do to prove himself as a worthy captain of the guard, he would do. If it killed him, he would serve his king and kingdom alike. The responsibility bestowed upon him was a great one, and a deep part of him doubted he’d even be able to find Dream, who he’d been in soft pursuit of for three years now. But it wasn’t an option.

He either caught Dream or gave up his livelihood, and without the guard he was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This one feels a bit clunkier than the last one, again I just really wanted to get a chapter for each fic up today. Please let me know what you think of this so far tho, and let me know if you have suggestions!


	3. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hurry up,” the guard had growled, “you’re not gonna get anywhere by wasting the king’s time.” Dream just rose clumsily to his feet, unable to use his hands to help himself. He would be lying if he didn’t say part of his swaying and wobbling wasn’t to lull the guards into a false sense of security. He’d ambled over to them, still keeping a couple feet behind, head down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnnnnnng writing has been very hard the past few days and I don't know why. I'm also starting school in a couple days so I'll prolly only be uploading once or twice a week anyway. Alright, enjoy the chapter!

Dream felt odd, running like this, with almost nothing on him. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice. Though he’d managed to get his mask and a sword from one of the guards, his only other possessions were the clothes he was wearing, and the sheath across his back. The sheath for _his_ sword, which was undoubtedly still in the castle. The one he’d taken didn’t fit the sheath right, and it rattled around awkwardly as he ran.

It had been easy, almost disturbingly so, to get away from the guards once they had him out of his cell. They’d blundered on ahead, simply expecting him to follow as his cell led down a dead end. So when he’d stopped, crouching to precariously remove the slender piece of metal from his boot, they hadn’t noticed. He’d managed to shimmy the cuffs far enough down his arms to insert the pick into their locking mechanism, and in a few moments he’d popped it open.

He’d set the cuffs down, quietly, not wanting to alert the guards with the clank of metal as he’d watched the dim light of their torches growing more distant. Unfortunately he’d forgot the pick in the cuffs, rookie move, but in his current situation he could only hope he didn’t need it again. Then one of the guards had turned around and he quickly hid his now unrestrained hands behind his back.

“Hurry up,” the guard had growled, “you’re not gonna get anywhere by wasting the king’s time.” Dream just rose clumsily to his feet, unable to use his hands to help himself. He would be lying if he didn’t say part of his swaying and wobbling wasn’t to lull the guards into a false sense of security. He’d ambled over to them, still keeping a couple feet behind, head down.

Dream had to admit being so deep in the dungeon had been eerie. The air was damp and cold, and the only light he’d seen was that carried by the guards. It was isolating and unwelcoming, smelling of mold and old blood. Near enough to make any hardened criminal fear for their precious life. But Dream had known he wasn’t the one in any danger here. It was the guards with all their bravado, thinking they’d finally captured him, who’d needed to be afraid.

Clearly they were fools, because when he’d made his first move they hadn’t been expecting it. Dream had closed the gap between him and the guard on the left, knowing his reaction time for his right side would be quicker. The hall was narrow and he’d used his body weight, slamming his left shoulder in between the guard’s shoulders and shoving him chest first into the stone wall, jabbing his left elbow out sharply into the back of the guard’s skull. There was a sickening crunch of bone as his face had made firm contact with the wall, surely breaking his nose.

“Bastard!” The guard on the right had exclaimed as his friend screamed, slumping to the floor, face a scrunched, bloody mess. The guard on the right had lashed out, and Dream had sustained a blow to his shoulder, turning quick enough to avoid any serious damage. But he’d dodged the second blow, bringing his knee up between the still-standing guard’s legs, who shrieked in pain, keeling over. Then Dream had punched up, knuckles connecting under the guard’s chin so hard he’d hurt himself a bit.

In a moment both of them had been dazed, laying out on the cool stone of the passage floor. Dream had been panting softly from the exertion and excitement of a fight, smiling to himself as he’d crouched down beside the guard on the left, still bleeding valiantly all over the place. He snatched the sword he’d just barely had time to draw before Dream had incapacitated him. But then the guard was trying to sit up, apparently still conscious.

Dream had placed his left boot on the guard’s chest, sheathing his new sword at his back. Then he’d looked the guard in his pale gray eyes, wide with fear. He’d leaned his weight into his left leg, hearing the guard wheeze as Dream restricted his ability to breathe with crushing pressure on his ribcage.

“Always. Watch. The. Hands,” Dream had said lowly. And when he’d been certain the guard wasn’t getting up he stepped over his unconscious form, and kept on down the hall in the dark. From then on he hadn’t needed to pick any fights, just keep quiet, keep pressed into walls and backed around corners.

When Dream had made it out of a window, and over the royal garden walls, he had a clean path through city farmland to the next town. Now he was still on that path, still running, as he skirted a field of barley that seemed to stretch on forever. He knew he couldn’t be stopping anytime soon, not out in the open like this.

As fast as Dream could run, as much as he had the element of surprise, eventually the King’s men would find out he was gone. They would find the men he’d left on the dungeon floor. And when they came after him they’d be in hordes on horseback. It was absolutely imperative that Dream covered as much distance as humanly possible, and maybe get his own hands on a horse before they realized he’d gotten away.

Dream’s lungs burned from the effort of keeping up what was near a full sprint for such a long duration, but he was reaching that point where he was no longer conscious of the pain. His only goal was staying as far away from the castle as he could. There was absolutely no way, not in this world or the next that he would be going back to that dungeon, or facing whatever punishment King Arnold wanted to thrust upon him.

Dream tried to ease some of the pressure of his body from the sprint. He focused on letting himself relax at the top of each step, feet falling, rather than pushing into the earth. His mask was held protectively in his right hand, his arm was looped through the leather straps, and he forced himself to loosen his grip on it.

Finally the town was coming into view and he was nearly shaking with relief. As agonizing as it was, he forced himself to slow to a walk. There was no easy way to go unnoticed walking right in through the center of town. So he cut around the left side. This town was small, but not too small to have slums. And this certainly wasn’t his first time navigating it’s crooked little streets. He attached his mask to the sheath on his bag, securing it firmly.

The sun was setting by the time he reached the marketplace he’d been looking for. He was making decent time, considering it had been late afternoon when he emerged from the castle. And it was a very fair distance from there to here. Dream was impossibly grateful he hadn’t seen any of the king’s men following after him, not yet at least.

Dream wasn’t in this little town with the intent to buy anything. He didn’t have a single coin on him, and he wasn’t about to become a beggar. But there were some supplies he was going to need if the king was on his ass, he had to cover a lot of ground and he needed to do it fast, so naturally he needed to get himself a horse. That would be easy enough, and he could nab one on his way out of the city.

Now he needed a canteen, saddle bags, provisions, weapons, things he would normally have but were inaccessible and had been unnecessary on his last job, or so he’d thought. Dream was already tired, thinking about having to steal all those little things. It might just be easier for him to get the money, plenty of lucky suckers around here looked ready to unwittingly donate their wallets to him.

Dream settled on some goon with a fitted frock coat, pockets bulging, weighed down with a wealth he seemed inclined to flex. This man was gaunt, walking with a strange crook in his back and an unsteadiness to his steps that made him easy to follow in a crowd. And this place was certainly crowded.

Little stalls lined a path haphazardly strewn with hay, merchants boasting their wares. They were quick to mention the setting sun, indicating their potential customers had a limited time to purchase whatever they were offering tonight. And Dream listened absently, following the man, figuring he’d still have time once he’d hit this little mark.

Dream closed the gap between them slowly, as if it were pure coincidence. The man with the frock coat was far to absorbed in his own mind. He kept forward with that awkward gait, not noticing at all when Dream was finally right up behind him. Then his gloved fingers were in the man’s pocket, nimble, light, like any proper thief. And he had his prize, a little coin purse laden with heavy gold coins, more than enough for his purposes.

Dream made quick work of the market place, new traveling bag freshly stocked. Then he was weaving between the crowd, heading for the edge of town. He put on his mask once he made it out of the busiest part, climbing up over a few rooves and walls to save time, making a b-line for the nearest stable.

It took him a few minutes to find a horse that wasn’t skittish, but then he was saddling it up and heading for the road again. Except his kept findings his eyes wandering, wandering to the forest that border the road on the left. It was old, ominous, and dark but it had to be a safer route Surely the royal guard would expect him to stick to the road.

_I can make it through the forest,_ he thought determinedly. There were towns on the other side, that much he was sure of. Though it might take him several days to make it through, it would be a great way to lose any pursuers. As long as he kept his bearings, something he’d never had any trouble with, it would be fine.

So then he was turning off his path, veering left towards the treeline, smiling to himself, thinking he’d found the perfect solution. Because no one was stupid enough to follow him in, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there wasn't a whole lot in this one! I kinda rushed it together because I just really wanted to get something out. I hope it was sufficient. Chapter 5 is gonna be pretty fun tho, just saying.   
> As always please lmk what you thought!


	4. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looked up at the silvery-white glimmer of the moon again, eyes slowly following what he could see of the hoof-prints before darkness and cool earth obscured them. Why the hell would Dream go in there? Surely it was ruse, but the trail didn’t lie. Who else could have been through here? Who else knew they needed to disappear, and fast? No one George could think of. But even for someone like Dream, the forest wasn’t safe.
> 
> It was simple, people went in there and didn’t come out, or they came back starved and half-mad with disturbing tales of what resided within. And since George was young he’d heard about things that would come out of the forest on cold nights or full moons, and drag people to some unknown fate. He shuddered, but deep within he knew it was inevitable, there was no other option. He couldn’t go around the forest on either side without allowing Dream weeks and weeks to flee so far he’d never be seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello again friends! Sorry I haven't been updating I promise I'm not abandoning any fics it's just I've got classes starting now so most of my time is going to be dedicated to that from now on! I just decided to give this fic more love because it need it, but others will be receiving updates, albeit less often.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, the sky lingering orange and fading into deep blue, as everything started to feel colder. And George set out alone, following the trail of Dream’s footsteps; they were messy in the soft earth, yet consistent. He’d been running fast. George could only guess at how much ground he’d managed to cover, knowing he’d escaped hours ago.

This pattern went straight through sprawling farmland, and George stayed with it, the sun disappearing below the horizon as his horse set an awkward loping pace. Everything was wide, open and flat, nowhere to hide. Why did George feel like he was being followed?  _ Paranoia _ , he told himself. Dream was miles away no doubt.  _ But it’s your job to fix that.  _ George felt shame washing over him. He wasn’t meant to be scared of Dream. He was meant to catch him.

When George saw the town up ahead he was relieved to feel less alone, though it was quiet, many people settled down for the evening. Just the knowledge of human presence was enough to ease his nerves. The earth here was drier, not softened by the watering of crops, and the trail of Dream’s footsteps quickly became difficult to decipher as they curved to the left. No surprise Dream wanted to stay low profile. It was part of the reason he’d been near impossible to track; he was a ghost wherever he went.

George didn’t spend much time in the town, unable to find a single trace of Dream. So reluctantly, he headed for the road, the only logical way Dream would have continued, apart from vanishing into the forest. There were hoof prints on the ground here though, faint but fresh. There were no other noticeable prints, and George had to assume his target had stolen himself a horse to move faster. The one advantage George had possessed was now gone.

He kept following the path though, trying not to think about how far, or how close Dream would be. If there was one thing George had learned as a member of the guard it’s that fear was his biggest inhibition, and if he was going to do this he couldn’t be scared. Success certainly wasn’t an option either, he  _ was _ going to do this. There was a thin crescent moon now high in the sky, and as he looked at it he felt a bit more sure of himself.

Then he realized the hoof-print trail was veering towards the forest, and he gently pulled back on his horse’s reins, slowing to a stop. The line of old oak trees showed nothing in the dark of night, yet it seemed like something was moving in the corner of George’s eye. Every time he looked it was gone though.

He looked up at the silvery-white glimmer of the moon again, eyes slowly following what he could see of the hoof-prints before darkness and cool earth obscured them. Why the hell would Dream go in there? Surely it was ruse, but the trail didn’t lie. Who else could have been through here? Who else knew they needed to disappear, and fast? No one George could think of. But even for someone like Dream, the forest wasn’t safe.

It was simple, people went in there and didn’t come out, or they came back starved and half-mad with disturbing tales of what resided within. And since George was young he’d heard about things that would come out of the forest on cold nights or full moons, and drag people to some unknown fate. He shuddered, but deep within he knew it was inevitable, there was no other option. He couldn’t go around the forest on either side without allowing Dream weeks and weeks to flee so far he’d never be seen again.

George couldn’t go back without catching Dream. He’d be stripped of his post, disowned, exiled. He’d never really be able to feel like a man without his status, without the reputation that protecting his Kingdom from a threat like Dream would earn him. It would make everything different, better, or worse without it. Feeling small, and useless for the rest of his life was a fate worse than death, and that was exactly how he’d felt before the guard, and how he would feel if he failed his mission.

George breathed in deep and slow, relaxing his gaze, assuring himself that the mystery of the forest was a mere fault of human storytelling, of curiosity and fear of the unknown. It was reasonable to be worried, but there was nothing in there he couldn’t handle, no faeries or demons, no monsters other than Dream. And he could handle Dream.

He spurred his horse onward, in the direction of the forest. Despite his self reassurance a cold sort of panic crept over him as he approached the tree line at a snail’s pace. And he considered how difficult it would be to navigate the thick foliage on horse-back. But he wasn’t willing to leave his steed, Irenia, behind. She was an older mare, with deep brown fur and soft eyes, but she was fast, and she’d been unwaveringly loyal to George. He just hoped they’d both make it out of this forest in one piece.

George produced a compass to orient himself, determining he needed to stay on a straight north-eastern path.  _ Easy enough _ _,_ he thought, keeping his eyes trained forward into the black spaces between ancient trees. Their bark was cracked and rugged, crawling with large insects that set off some primal urge within George to cover any orifices. He pulled his hood up, doing his best to ignore the sights. But he heard their incessant chittering, and buzzing, the delicate flapping of the wings of bird sized moths.

There was more rustling, too far away to be Irenia’s hooves in the bushes, and far too big to be a squirrel or a rabbit. Besides those creatures were meant to be asleep, safe and warm in their burrows now (if only George had that luxury). It had to be something more predatory, something George didn’t plan on running into if he could help it.

With no path to follow George checked his compass often, eyes straining to see properly in the dim light from a sliver of the moon. Unease snaked through him at every noise, animals running on branches sounding all too close to the incessant tap of idle hands. He could just picture Dream, high in the canopy above him, sharp sword dangling from his hands, caricature mask secured to his face, tapping impatiently as he watched George, waiting.

He pushed that image away, forcefully. What good would it do Dream to linger, to stalk George like prey? Dream was a wanted criminal, and he had to know that at the very least someone was looking, someone was coming for him. He was meant to be scared, meant to be the delicate little creature being hunted. Surely Dream was miles deep into the thick of the forest. 

“And I’m going to find him,” George whispered furiously, to no one other than Irenia and the bugs. He pressed forward.

George rode forward until his eyes were bleary and his shoulder slumped. Occasionally Irenia would try to buck him off, just enough to force him to be alert. Even she was beginning to protest this never ending journey. George checked his compass, realizing he’d gone off course slightly, and he muttered a string of curses under his breath, directing Irenia back on course.

She let out an irritated snort, beginning to slow even as George tried to coax her forward, into a small clearing. But she wouldn’t go, rearing her head back in what he had at first seen as annoyance. It was something else though, she was all tense beneath him, taking awkward steps backward. George looked down at the ground, not seeing anything that would have alarmed his horse. When his tired eyes drifted up he saw something in the distance, and he thought surely his gaze deceived him.

It was the orange glow of a fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter isn't super eventful again I'm pressed for time, also I'm just trying to ya know set up the vibes and create more build up. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chap it means a lot to hear from you guys even if I don't always reply to comments!


	5. Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not going,” Dream cuts him off, “I’m taking you.” He pressed the blade harder into the guard’s throat, nearly hard enough to draw blood. The guard looks about ready to cry.
> 
> “Please, just let me leave,” he said, “I promise I’m no one.” Dream chuckled
> 
> “Surely I believe you,” he says mockingly. “What’s your name?” He asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chap I’m sorry I know I haven’t updated in awhile but I do have a very important and exciting new fic I’m working on that has a pretty interesting concept so hopefully you’ll get to see that soon.
> 
> Time to shamelessly plug my discord! 
> 
> https://discord.gg/AzcYxnav6j
> 
> For my fic readers, we have a fun medieval theme and are very NSFW supportive, with appropriate channels for darker themes.
> 
> (It’s full of crackheads and weird inside jokes and we even have a mc realm now!)

Dream looked pitifully down at the young man before him, dragging a stick idly through the damp earth as he waited for him to rise from a light state of sleepy deliriousness. He sat back on the old log he’d perched himself on, pulling on the cuffs of sleeves. But he found himself growing quickly bored. His eyes roved over the young man’s body, curious.

What business did someone like him have chasing Dream through the woods at night. His red cloak and the sword Dream as taken from him denoted the highest member of the Royal guard, yet he looked almost pathetic. He wasn’t short, wasn’t quite tall either. He was pale, scrawny, curled in on himself in an unconscious manner of self preservation that only made Dream want to uncurl him.

His eyes floated to where he’d tied the guard’s arms behind his back, to where his fingers twitched, and began to grope delicately for the edges of the rope. The first sign of consciousness, and already Dream knew he wouldn’t be keen on his new circumstances. 

This young man had stumbled into Dream’s camp a few hours ago, sword held shakily in his hands. Though he’d tried to feign confidence his unease was abundant, and Dream had made quick work of getting him into this state. Now he wasn’t even a threat, just a sad little thing all on his lonesome in the dark. Dream could have pitied him, perhaps if he, himself was a much different man.

Though with one guard, Dream had expected more to follow. Certainly the King saw Dream as enough of a threat to send more than one man. Surely he was just the unlucky fool sent to check the forest, the bait they’d return for if it didn’t come back on it’s own.

A muscle in the guard’s cheek twitched, and then his eyelids were fluttering open. His eyes, a dark brown, were weary with forced sleep, and slow to open, fully. He glanced around, at the dull orange glow of a dampened fire, his sword resting against Dream’s saddlebags. But then his eyes finally settled on Dream, and they grew wide, a fog within them seeming to clear.

  
  


His muscles, stiff and slow, came to life quickly as he awkwardly lifted himself from the ground without the use of his bound arms.

“What happened?” He asked rabidly, the tone of his voice quickly developing to that of a scared, feral animal. “What did you do to me? How did this happen?” He was already panting, trying to push himself to his feet and wriggling his wrists within their bonds. Dream couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said coolly.

He stood up from the log, and walked over to the guard, kneeling down in front of him. Dream reached for the sword at his back, unsheathing it slowly, and the other’s dark eyes were as wide as a spring fawn’s. Delicately but with purpose he tipped the young man’s chin up with gloved fingers, into the dull light emanating from the embers of his fire.

Dream placed a hand on his shoulder, ensuring he couldn’t simply back away from the blade he placed where his fingertips had been moments before. There was something in his soft brown eyes (fear of course, but something else), his soft-looking cheeks and pink lips. He was cute, pretty. It made Dream feel a peculiar sort of way. It made him want to touch.

“Where’s the rest of your friends? Who else did the king send?” Dream asked, letting the blade of his sword press ever so slightly against that pale skin, marred with dirt but still so soft-looking.

“It’s just me,” the guard said, pride burning in his eyes.

“Oh don’t look so happy,” Dream said, rolling his eyes, “If that were true you’d be an embarrassment.” He leaned in close to the young man’s ear, and he shuddered, slight but visible. Dream smiled once more. “You’ve already lost your game.”

“Are you going to kill me then?” The guard asked shakily, pulling his head back further, away from the blade, exposing the curve of his throat to Dream’s curious eyes.

  
  


“No,” Dream, shaking his head, laughing softly at this guard’s naivety. “You’re going to stay alive because I know you’re worth something.”

“What?” The guard asked as Dream tipped the blade up further to meet his chin.

“I’m not an idiot,” Dream said, “I know what that little emblem on your uniform means, I know it means that if I let you go, you’ll come running back with more guards. And I know that if they find your body I’ll have an army on my ass.”

“What are you going to do then? Take me with you on your run?” The guard said in disbelief.

“Actually yes,” Dream said, already thinking of how he was going to manage it.

“That’s absurd, I’m not going to-”

“You’re not  _ going _ ,” Dream cuts him off, “I’m taking you.” He pressed the blade harder into the guard’s throat, nearly hard enough to draw blood. The guard looks about ready to cry.

“Please, just let me leave,” he said, “I promise I’m no one.” Dream chuckled

“Surely I believe you,” he says mockingly. “What’s your name?” He asks.

The guard puzzled for a moment, perhaps surprised by the sudden question. But it had been scratching at Dream not to have something proper to call this guard. He was so captivating after all.

“G-George,” he said, unsure, as if it weren’t his real name, but rather one he’d come up with on the spot.  _ Good enough for me _ , Dream thought.

“Well, George,” Dream said, with a bit more smugness than the statement deserved, “I think you already know what to call me.”

“Dream,” George said, eyes narrowing slightly, and Dream eased the press of his sword into his throat.

Then Dream was pulling away completely, rising to his feet, and tucking the sword back into its place on his back. 

“Don’t ask me to take the ropes off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Dream and George finally interacted after 5 chapters xD. Don’t forget to tell me what you thought, and what you hope to see more of next...

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked this! I worked pretty hard on it, and I think I'm definitely going to do chapters alternating different povs! So, you'll get to see from George's perspective. Tell me what you thought of this and if you want to see more!


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